Cut to the Chaise

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Cut to the Chaise Page 13

by Karen Rose Smith


  “Mom and I have been in touch. I e-mailed her the details about the funeral,” Jarrett explained.

  “I wish you would have told me she was coming,” Michelle said to Jarrett.

  He shrugged. “I wasn’t sure she was.”

  Vivian inserted herself into the conversation. “I was overcome with grief. I didn’t know if I’d be able to travel.”

  “I should have picked you up at the airport,” Jarrett said.

  “I used one of those car services and he brought me right here.”

  “You have your suitcases with you?”

  “I do. He said he’d wait until I come out, and then take me where I need to go.”

  “I can drive you to the house,” Jarrett said. Apparently realizing that maybe he didn’t have a say in that, he asked Michelle, “Is it all right if my mother stays with us at the house?”

  Put on the spot, what could Michelle say?

  With a smile that was definitely forced, Michelle told Vivian, “Of course, you can stay. But I have to warn you—I had to let my housekeeper go. We’ll have to cook our own meals or bring in takeout.”

  “Or we can go out for dinner,” Vivian suggested as if that were a normal occurrence.

  Caprice had the feeling that Vivian’s visit to Rambling Vines Winery was going to be an uncomfortable one.

  * * *

  Two and a half hours later Grant and Caprice mingled with others who were paying respects to Travis or Michelle at the house at the winery. Michelle was absent a good amount of the time and Caprice wondered where she was. But after the food was laid out on the long dining room table, Caprice knew. Michelle had been in the kitchen, readying the platters.

  Along with meatballs in a silver urn, there were platters of deli meats and cheeses, several different kinds of salads, and sheet cakes for dessert—one vanilla and one chocolate.

  As Caprice went to the head of the table to pick up a plate—a paper plate—Michelle placed a bowl of fruit salad on the table. “There,” she said. “I think I got it all. Isn’t Grant getting something to eat?”

  “He’s talking to people he knows. They might be clients. I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me.”

  “The way it should be,” Michelle said. “I would have liked to have asked Nikki to cater this, but I didn’t want the expense.”

  “I’m sure she would have given you a discount.”

  “That wouldn’t have been fair to her. Besides, this wasn’t so much trouble. I picked up everything at the downtown deli early this morning. I would have preferred someone here to ready it before we got back from graveside, but this works.”

  “It does,” Caprice said, knowing traditions were going to be broken in this house if it wasn’t sold first.

  “Walk with me a few minutes, will you?” Michelle asked.

  Caprice set down the paper plate. “Sure.” Passing through the dining room, they came to another parlor. Sliding glass screened doors led out to the sunporch but Michelle stopped in the parlor. “I just want you to know I didn’t intend to make trouble for Vince.”

  “Trouble?” Caprice asked innocently.

  “Yes. Apparently, Roz doesn’t like him counseling me. But I just want you to know he’s keeping his emotional distance. We’re not talking about anything but business and the police when they question me.”

  “Did he tell you Roz wasn’t happy with this arrangement?”

  “He didn’t have to. I know he tells her when he calls me. Or if I call him. And like today, he was in and out of the funeral home after an ‘I’m sorry’ and a hug. I understand. And the truth is—I can’t pay some expensive lawyer right now.”

  Caprice nodded her understanding but she heard a male and female voice close by. Apparently, someone had come into the sunporch from the outside.

  Michelle caught on immediately and whispered, “That’s Vivian and Jarrett.”

  Neither woman moved but Caprice knew they should.

  They stayed put when Vivian said, “I tried to reach Travis over the past few years but he would never return my phone calls or e-mails. Why couldn’t he understand that I’d changed and was no longer drinking?”

  Jarrett’s tone was gentle as he answered. “You have to stop thinking about it. There’s nothing you can do now.”

  Before Caprice knew what Michelle was going to do, she opened the screen and stepped into the sunporch. “Caprice and I were in the parlor and I overheard you. Vivian, when did you last try to contact Travis?”

  Since Michelle had made their presence known, Caprice joined her.

  Vivian glanced at Jarrett. “Over the holidays I sent him an e-mail.”

  “I saw pictures of you that Jarrett had set on his dresser when he lived here. I’m sorry we never met formally. Travis would never talk about your divorce from his father or why you left.”

  “I slunk away,” Vivian admitted. “I went home to New Hampshire. My mother was still alive then and she grounded me. When I couldn’t hold a job, I got sober.”

  “Good for you,” Michelle said with sincerity. “Were you happy in your work?”

  “I began working at a cloth mill and soon became executive secretary to the owner. After all, I did manage this house and a housekeeper, butler, and maid. I planned cocktail parties. I definitely knew how to organize. But that wasn’t what made my life happy. I spent a lot of time with the owner of the mill. We fell in love and married. When Lawrence died, I inherited everything. I sold the mill a year ago and have been at loose ends since.”

  Michelle volunteered, “We no longer have a maid, butler, or housekeeper. I’m sorry about that. I might have to sell the winery and the house. But, for now, you’re welcome to stay. I’d like to get to know you. Maybe we can find out more about the Dodd family. I imagine you want to know about the years you lost with Travis and I’d like to know about those years before you divorced William Dodd.”

  “That could be painful for you both,” Jarrett suggested, frowning.

  “Sometimes you have to get through the pain to get to the other side,” Vivian advised. She reached out and gave Michelle’s hand a squeeze. “I like your idea and I’ll be glad to spend time getting to know you, as well as having discussions with my son.”

  Because Caprice knew Michelle, she sensed her sincerity in the proposal. But Vivian? Was she being sincere or did she want something? And Jarrett. . . She could ask the same about him.

  Yet she knew from experience the truth would out, one way or another. The only question was—would the police find it first, or would she?

  * * *

  When Grant put his SUV in reverse as they were leaving, Caprice had an idea. “While we’re out here, don’t you think we should visit the neighbor who Michelle suggested could have murdered Travis?”

  Grant gave her an are-you-sure-you-want-to-do-this look.

  “I’m sure we should do this,” she told him without him asking the question. And the good thing is, you’re with me. I’ll be safe.”

  “Tell me again why Michelle thinks he could have killed Travis.”

  “Because he has a temper. He shouts. He raises his fists. Ever since they built the reception hall, he’s against the activities they have there because they create more traffic. He also hates music and dances. Michelle told me he even threatened Travis with slicing everyone’s tires the last time they had an outdoor band playing.”

  “It’s a far cry from slicing tires to murder,” Grant offered.

  “I agree, but I’d like to talk to him myself . . . to get a feel for him.”

  “All right. Which direction should I go off the lane, east or west?”

  “West,” she told him with a slight smile.

  He gave her a slanted glance. “Do you think you’re going to get your way all the time when we’re married?”

  “I can only hope,” she said brightly.

  Grant laughed. “At least you’re honest.”

  She hoped they would always be honest with each other.

  Since
Andrei Moldavan was Michelle’s closest neighbor, Grant didn’t have to drive far. The lane to Moldavan’s house, however, was more dirt than gravel, more potholes than smooth road. As they approached the house, they could see it was shabbily maintained. It was more like a cabin with wood siding that had once been painted white. It needed to be repainted. There was a chicken wire fence around the yard and hung on it was a sign that said BEWARE OF DOG.

  The front porch seemed to sag a little at one end. The one saving grace for the house was the forsythia bushes in the front yard. There were two on either side of the walk just inside the fence, and two more on either side of the walk at the steps that went up to a small porch at the front door. Parked close to the house, a tan-and-white Silverado stood on the grass. A rusted-out car was raised on blocks a ways from the house.

  “Why do I feel that I should be packing a revolver for this visit?” Grant asked.

  “I’ll bet the BEWARE OF DOG sign is a bluff,” Caprice decided.

  Grant grimaced. “I don’t want to find out the hard way.”

  “See? Isn’t it good you’re with me? You wouldn’t have liked it if I had come out here alone.”

  Grant parked right in front of the fence so that Moldavan could see his vehicle and know they were there. “I wouldn’t want to sneak up on a guy like this. And if he tells us to leave, we leave,” he warned her.

  “Got it,” Caprice said cheerfully as she unfastened her seatbelt and opened the door of the SUV.

  Grant came around to her side. The gate was rickety. When Grant opened it, it gave a loud squeak.

  “That’s probably his security alarm,” Grant muttered.

  A few seconds later they found out that Grant was right. A man with long, flowing gray hair and a gray beard to match came out on the porch with a scowl. He was wearing workpants with suspenders and a brown T-shirt. Caprice guessed he might be around fifty.

  “Ain’t you seen the sign?” the man grumbled.

  “Do you have a dog?” Caprice asked. “I love dogs. I have a cocker spaniel and so does my fiancé, Grant Weatherford. I’m Caprice De Luca.”

  Her introductions didn’t coax any from him. “I got a Doberman inside, and if I let him out, you’ll be sorry.”

  A Doberman wouldn’t have much room to roam in a house that size. It was probably a thousand square feet. She doubted if the man had a Doberman that he’d keep him inside.

  “Who are you again?” the man demanded.

  Grant stepped forward. “Are you Andrei Moldavan?”

  “Who wants to know?” he asked belligerently.

  “Mr. Moldavan, I’m going to be honest with you,” Caprice said.

  “I’ll bet,” he mumbled.

  She looked him straight in the eyes. He had an alert hazel gaze that seemed more curious and intelligent than he let on. “My name’s Caprice and, as I said, this is my fiancé Grant Weatherford. We’re having our wedding reception at the winery. I’m trying to gather information to clear Michelle of the suspicion of murder. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

  Now the man’s expression seemed to soften a bit. “Michelle ain’t so bad,” he admitted. “But her husband got what he deserved.”

  “Do you mind if I ask if you know anything about the murder?”

  Moldavan crossed his arms over his chest and was silent until he said, “I didn’t tell the police nothin’ and I’m not telling you nothin’.”

  “Why won’t you give the police information to help capture the killer?” Caprice asked.

  Uncrossing his arms, Moldavan glared at the two of them. “I want you to leave.”

  “If you sort of like Michelle, you should help her. If she sells the winery, there’s no telling what the next owners could do.”

  Now the man took a step toward them, and when he did, Grant caught Caprice’s elbow. He gave it a squeeze. “Come on,” he urged her.

  They both turned their backs on Moldavan and hurried down the walk. Grant closed the gate behind him.

  “If he thinks about what I said, he might open up,” Caprice suggested hopefully.

  “And he might not,” Grant insisted. “Don’t ever come out here alone.”

  Usually Caprice became defensive when Grant tried to protect her or give her orders. But this time, she knew he was right.

  Chapter Twelve

  Caprice expected the high-end buyers who had seen the photos from the “Bohemian Rhapsody” house online or in newsletters would love it. The quirkiness of the six-thousand-square-foot stone-and-brick home had drawn them here. From that turquoise curio cabinet in the foyer to the beautiful unique mosaic fireplace along with the macramé chair in the sunroom, this house would be hard to forget. Dustin and Althea might not get a contract today, but she expected they would soon.

  Nikki had put together a variety of foods from kolaches, which were sweet yeast buns filled with a raspberry-almond filling, to shrimp ceviche to a cabbage dish with caraway seeds and sour cream to pork chops and dumplings. The food was as unique as the house. The piece-de-resistance was a babovka, a bohemian cake with lemon rind, ground nuts, and coconut, topped with powdered sugar. Caprice had had a taste of the food. Like all of Nikki’s dishes, it was exceptional. The dining room table with its dark wood and curlicue legs was already full from couples who had gone through the buffet line and settled there. The valance-like wooden feature around the tabletop added to its unique nature. The tall luxuriously tufted but armless chairs made seating as many guests as possible around the table comfortable.

  A couple came down the staircase, commenting on the photos on the wall. When they reached the bottom, they saw Caprice. Today she was wearing a long Bohemian-style empire-waisted maxi-dress that was patterned with a colorful print in turquoise and fuchsia. With it, she’d worn the pink sapphire earrings Grant had given her for Christmas. They matched her heart-shaped pink diamond engagement ring. She wore turquoise shoes with leather straps that crisscrossed her ankles. The waitstaff who assisted Nikki wore colorful Bohemian-print tops over black leggings. Nikki and Caprice had tried to coordinate every aspect of the open house.

  When the couple reached the first floor, they crossed over to Caprice. “You staged the house, didn’t you? Someone pointed you out to us.”

  Caprice extended her hand and introduced herself. The couple did the same. “Are you interested in the house?” Caprice asked. If they were, she’d show them to the real estate agent in charge today, Denise Langford.

  “We might be,” the husband said. “Can you tell us if the furniture would go along with the sale?”

  “That might be negotiable,” Caprice told them. “The owner told me they couldn’t take everything with them when they move. So it would be quite possible.”

  Caprice spotted Denise exiting the dining room. She beckoned to her. “You might want to talk to these folks. They have some questions about the sale of the house.”

  “Why don’t you come to the library with me,” Denise said. “We’ll get acquainted and I can answer any questions you might have.”

  Denise gave a nod to Caprice in thank you. She and Denise had sold many houses together. Though Denise could be a little brash at times, Caprice liked her forthrightness, if not always her attitude. Nevertheless, she sold houses and Caprice’s reputation as a home stager was spread a little farther.

  Caprice stopped in the kitchen to see Nikki who stood at the butcher-block counter going over a list. Caprice tapped her on the shoulder. “We have a nice showing today.”

  “The real estate agents involved have done a good job of spreading the word and screening clients. I heard a couple from New York say they were thinking about making an offer,” Nikki revealed.

  “I just spoke to a couple who are interested too. Maybe there will be a bidding war.”

  “That’s better for Denise’s pocket than yours,” Nikki joked.

  Her sister knew she charged a flat fee for her stagings, depending on what changes she had to make with the house and how much time w
as involved.

  Suddenly there was a commotion in the foyer. Caprice heard a dog barking. She thought she recognized that bark. Was that Dylan?

  Although Roz had adopted Dylan, Caprice had found him as a stray and given him a home. But then Roz had had a crisis in her life and she and the little black-and-white fluffy-furred dog, part Pomeranian and part Shih Tzu, just seemed to connect.

  “I’ll see what’s going on,” Caprice told Nikki as she hurried through the house and out to the foyer. Roz was standing there with Dylan dancing around her feet. When Roz saw Caprice, she picked up Dylan and murmured, “I hope this isn’t a problem.”

  Caprice wasn’t sure what “this” was, but she knew Roz looked as if she had been crying. She hooked her arm around Roz’s shoulders and guided her to a side parlor. Once inside, she turned toward her friend. “What’s going on?”

  “I hated to barge in like this, but I just had to talk to somebody, and I wanted to talk to you.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “Grant. I know you keep your phone turned off during these open houses, or at least keep it on vibrate, but sometimes you don’t feel it.”

  “This dress doesn’t have a pocket, so I left my purse in the car. It has my phone in it. Why are you so upset?”

  “Michelle called Vince again. Afterward, we had a terrible fight, so I packed a bag. Can Dylan and I stay with you tonight . . . or maybe for a few nights?”

  “Of course, you can.”

  “Did you and Grant have plans for tonight?”

  She was always honest with Roz. “He’ll probably come over while you’re there. I told him I’d put a pot roast in the slow cooker. But I can call him and tell him not to come.”

  “Oh, don’t do that. Will he mind if I’m there?”

  “He won’t mind. He knows you have a key and you know the security system code. I’ll text him and tell him you’re going to be there.”

  “I hate to impose like this, but I couldn’t go to a hotel because of Dylan.” Roz’s eyes were so troubled Caprice gave her a hug.

  “We were housemates once before. We got through a difficult time then and we will now.”

  Roz backed away. “But you and Grant . . .”

 

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